


Human or Machine

by TimelessDreamer2



Category: Person of Interest (TV)
Genre: AU, Angst with a Happy Ending, Cyborgs, Established Relationship, I Don't Know How To Tag This Properly, It Is All The CIA's Fault, John Is Slow But Figures It Out, M/M, Mentions of Cutting But Not Really, Only Harold Has All The Answers, Prompt Fic, self doubt
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-01-03
Updated: 2014-01-15
Packaged: 2018-01-07 07:10:41
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 8,451
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1116996
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TimelessDreamer2/pseuds/TimelessDreamer2
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A simple injury leaves John wondering if he's man or machine....</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Realization

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Mavet](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mavet/gifts).



> Mavet, sweet Mavet gave me two amazing Prompts. This is the first one. It will be long, and I will do my best to fill it to the fullest.
> 
> Thank you Linda, for being so patient and listening to me when I flailed about like a psycho. Thank you, Cheyennesunrise for always, having my back.

Fusco could not believe his bad luck. Luck that seemed to fall on him in spades every time The Professor or Wonderboy were involved. Still, even knowing how much trouble they could get into, Fusco never expected to round the corner of a building and see Reese kneeling on the back of a portly man, with a knife sticking out of his left arm.

Reese stood, pulling the man, Kirkland, Harold had said, at Fusco, then pulled the knife out and tossed it to the ground, before looking of the cut. Fusco watched as Reese’s eyes widened a bit and he clapped a hand over the injury before the detective could get a good look at it.

While he worked on restraining Kirkland, Fusco glanced over, wondering why Reese looked so surprised at something so small. “Hey, you okay, there? You know, Glasses is gonna pitch a fit when he sees that.” He finished cuffing Kirkland and paused, a frown growing on his own face. Fusco was the first to admit that he was not that close to John, despite his growing soft spot for Harold, but they were friends, in a way. “Hey, Wonderboy?”

“Lionel,” Reese’s eyes flicked up, then back down to his arm, A scowl etched on his face. “Call Finch for me. Tell him I’m on my way back.”

Adjusting his grip on Kirkland, Fusco watched as Reese moved quickly through the crowd and vanished. Dragging the man toward his car, he pulled out his phone, hitting button four of his speed dial.

_“Detective, is Mr. Reese alright?”_

“Hello to you too.” Fusco groused a bit, shoving Kirkland into his car and slamming the door. “Yeah, he seems alright. Looking at a cut on his arm kinda funny though.”

_“How bad is the injury?”_

That made Fusco smile a bit. For all of Harold’s coolness, he hated it when any of them got hurt, especially Reese. “Nothin’ Tall, Dark and Deadly can’t handle. Little cut, but he looked a bit freaked, you might wanna check on him, just in case.”

_“I appreciate your exceptionally quick response, Detective.”_

Fusco wasn’t surprised that Harold had hung up on him. Personally, he took it as a good sign that there would be no more random surprises that day.

 

******

 

John slipped through the people until he rounded another corner, pausing long enough to carefully check and make sure that Fusco wasn’t following him. He knew the detective meant well, but John had to investigate this one on his own.  Confident that Fusco was nowhere in sight, he pulled his sleeve up exposing the small but deep cut and started working the skin apart. For a moment he actually wished he had kept the knife, as it was difficult to see anything with the small space and the blood, but finally John could see a tiny thin wire, and he scowled.

He couldn’t understand exactly how a wire had gotten into his arm, but he had a couple of suspicions. John started walking again, planning on heading toward his loft to investigate further, pulling his sleeve down and keeping his hand tight over his left arm. He was torn between anger and confusion. Confusion mostly at how he didn’t know about a wire in his arm, and anger at wondering just what else the CIA had done. It had to have been them, John was certain of it. How had he missed something like this? Especially considering all the times he’d been injured before, not only recently but before with the CIA. John’s eyes narrowed as he thought. Mark Snow, the bastard, John was willing to bet almost anything that he had known. He could remember several times that Mark would stand there, with that smirk on his face, like he knew everything. But how was it that _John_ didn’t know? He never noticed when he had been shot by Kara, then again, he hadn’t really been thinking clearly. But, there was that time he took a broken beer bottle to the head. Not to mention, that set up in the parking garage. Was that wire only in his arm? Where there more of them? There had to be some kind of explanation.

When John paused at a crosswalk he had to blink to clear his mind. Taking a minute to check the street, his confusion came back. He wasn’t going the right direction to reach his loft, but he was headed the right way for the Library. That didn’t make much sense either. True, he usually went to the Library after a job but today he had specifically planned to just go back to his apartment, since he didn’t want to see Harold until he knew exactly what was going on.

Changing direction, he started again for his loft beforeone thought hit him like a bus.   _‘How do I tell Harold?’_  His sweet, gentle Harold. John froze, just barely able to maneuver out of the way of the crowd. He knew that his partner would be worried, even with Fusco’s phone call, but John had to figure out exactly what was going on before he could face Harold. A frown crossed his face then. Did Harold already know about the wire? His partner had said he knew exactly everything about John. Did that include this? Would Harold hide something like this from him? John didn’t think that he would, especially not now, but…

Shaking his head, John glared when he realized that he had _again_ , started heading in the direction of the Library while he had been lost in thought. Now, he was torn. He wanted to go to Harold, show him the wire, ask him if he knew, and he wanted to stay away, investigate on his own, see just what was done to him. He didn’t know what he would do if Harold said that he knew. It was agony, not knowing if his partner had kept this from him. If it was just this one wire or if there were more. Part of him, just wanted Harold. To wrap his arm around his partner, hold him close, like he was allowed to do now, let Harold’s presence draw him out of all the dark thoughts rolling around in his mind.  Thoughts of what the CIA had done, and how it was he hadn’t known. That bothered John almost more than the wire did, the fact that he did not know how or when it had gotten there. His mind was racing with thoughts and he felt the sudden, intense need to go home.

After another minute, John just caught a cab back to his loft. He prefered to be alone when he head wasn’t completely in the game but he wasn’t getting anywhere just walking in circles. This way at least he could be certain of where he was going to end up. He paid the driver absently, barely even looking at the bills that he handed over, before determinedly walking the block and half to his apartment.

As always the emptiness of his place hit him full force the moment he stepped in the door. John never had been able to tell Harold that the only time he actually thought of his loft as home was when Harold was in it with him. It wasn’t the place anymore that was home, it was the person he was with that made it home. For a single minute, John stood there, caught between the privacy the lost offered and the sense of home that he needed and could find at the Library. Frowning, he shoved it away, forcing himself to focus completely on what he needed to do before he could meet up with Harold. He needed to figure out why he had a wire in his arm and if it was the only one.

It only took a moment to move the lamp enough so that he could look at the cut again. By now the bleeding had stopped but it only took a second to open the scab back up. The cut was really too small for John to see anything properly, and he was getting more and more frustrated with every passing second. Finally, he stood up and slipped a knife out from under his mattress, and returned to his chair. For a minute John stared at his arm, turning it slightly, hesitating. Finally, he dug the knife into a arm a bit, spreading the cut, before setting the weapon aside, and wiping the blood away enough so that he could see. As he wiped away the blood, he saw it again, the wire that had caught his attention right after he had pulled out the pocket knife. The wire was partially cut and apparently not the only one, there were several of them hidden away under his skin.

Almost absently, John removed another bit of blood, before haphazardly bandaging the injury. The bright white bandage stood out against his tanned skin, and for a moment he sat there, mind full of questions and suspicions. A dark look crossed his face, and his hands started moving, rolling up the cuff of his pants, and curling almost lovingly around the handle of the knife. He dug the knife into the skin if the calf, deep enough that he could see, but not enough to cause any permanent damage. The angle was awkward but the result was the same. More wires. Almost clinically, John wiped away the blood, and dug a finger into the burning injury. It hurt, and that bit of information was filed away as a positive. Here, the wires were thin, but strong, and John soon moved on. Slipping out of his shirt, and considering that one sleeve was already blood soaked anyway, he dropped it on the floor. His next mark was on the top of his shoulder, right above the bone because that was his goal the bone. It took some effort, but John knew exactly what he was doing, and once the large cut was made, he scowled again. the wires here were smaller, thinner far more delicate but as he worked a fingertip in he didn’t feel the odd rough bone texture, instead he felt smooth metal.

Now bleeding from two new cuts, the pain dull against the pounding in his head, John had just picked up the knife again, fully intending on checking his stomach next, when there was a creak from his door. Instantly, he was on his feet with the knife ready to throw, as Harold limped through the door.

When Harold’s eyes settled on John, with a large bleeding cut on his shoulder, another on his leg and bloody knife in between equally red fingers, Harold’s eyes grew wide and his mouth dropped open slightly.

John was equally surprised to see his partner, and it took longer than it should for him to lower the knife. He knew how it had to look, especially to Harold, but he couldn’t make his mouth work. Couldn’t find the words to explain when all he could think about was metal and wires and _what was he_?

“My God, John! What are you _**doing**_?” 


	2. Discussion

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harold explains what he knew, and John does not take it well.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mavet, here is your second part. This was actually much easier to do than the first chapter. I hate to say it but it will be a couple more chapters before the happy part of this story. Please. I would love constructive criticism.

John watched as Harold crossed the room, as quickly as he was able and snatched the knife away. He was aware the second the knife was thrown across the room, embedding itself in the leg of the chair. He noticed Bear, for the first time, sitting just behind where Harold had been standing, a low whine emitting from the abrupt action. Harold’s recoil from his daring at taking a weapon forcefully from John, as well as the eerie silence immediately afterward was mulled over until cool fingers were pressed on his shoulder.

Harold checking his injury was normal, and usually a welcome thing, but the silence was not. John twisted, pulling his shoulder away from Harold’s touch, and pointedly staring at the knife across the room. “Harold…”

“Hold still, John.”

John froze instantly, then scowled at himself. He couldn’t figure out what he was thinking. Those chilled fingers returned, gentler now, smoothing over skin and tracing along the open cut. It was soothing yet at the same time, it made John feel a bit jumpy, something that had never happened before when his partner touched him. His eyes moved over Bear, who was settling down on the floor, before shifting his focus, he concentrated on the words that seemed to be spilling from Harold’s mouth.

“... Fusco told me that it was a minor injury. I cannot even begin to imagine what you might have been thinking.” Harold paused only long enough to grab the medical supplies, before the words continued. “Were you injured more than once? I do wish that you wouldn’t…”

“Harold.” John’s voice was gruff, almost rude but it had the desired effect, Harold’s mouth closed instantly. John knew that it was simply how his partner handled stress, but he really needed to get his head on straight. “Did you know?”

A confused look crossed Harold’s face. “Did I know about what, John?”

John took a shallow breath, as he noticed the pressure of Harold’s hands, the slight itch of the medical tape, the lingering twinge of pain from the cuts. Reaching up, John caught and stilled Harold’s hands. “Did you know.. about the wire that I found in my arm?” John needed to know. He simply had to.

Instantly Harold’s expression cleared and that was an answer all in itself. “Yes, I did. Didn’t you?”

That casual answer made John angry and he jerked away from Harold as quickly as he could. “What do you mean, you _knew_?” He vaulted off the stool, catching the way Harold flinched back at the sudden movement, and the distressed whine it caused from Bear. “How could you know? How was I supposed to know?” John took three steps, turned and stalked back, eyes darting around the room. Part of him inwardly winced every time Harold shifted away or took a step backward. Despite how angry John was, he had never wanted Harold to be afraid of him. “Why would you think I knew?” He spun around as he asked the question.

“I assumed that the CIA had informed you when the incident occurred.” Harold’s tone was steady but growing distant, stiffer, a sign that he was withdrawing. “It would seem that I was mistaken.” There was an uncertain pause.

John let it linger for a moment, took a few seconds to calm himself, then made a go ahead motion with his hand. “How did you know?”

Straightening himself a bit, Harold’s answer was quiet. “I had my suspicions after you were shot trying to protect Judge Gates’ son.. However, I did not know for certain until… after…” Another pause, this one shorter. “The incident at the parking garage.” Harold’s voice was a whisper by the end.

John bit the inside of his lip hard enough to draw blood. He remembered that night so clearly. Usually when he was injured that badly everything was blurry, fuzzy, only bits and pieces coming to him. That night though, he remembered clearly, every step down the stairway, the feel of Harold’s hands holding him up, Carter’s voice urging Harold to go, the bumps of the car ride, and even the bright lights of the hallway in what Harold later said was a morgue. He remembered Harold, talking to someone before just before John lost consciousness. The next thing he knew was waking up in a surprisingly comfortable bed with Harold sound asleep in a chair at his bedside.

Shaking his head, to clear his thoughts and just catching Harold’s frown at the action, John just stared until Harold started talking again.

“I was prepared to pay for a very skilled man to take care of your injuries, however, it was rather obvious once we both were able to get a proper look at them that he would not have been able to help.” Harold cleared his throat, and fixed his eyes on the floor. “I… repaired what I could and allowed the Nano-Techs to do the rest.”

John’s eyes narrowed a bit. “What’s a Nano-Tech?”

Harold turned a bit, and started fussing with the medical supplies. “They were… one of my earlier projects…”

“ _ **What?**_ ”

“Please.. allow me to finish before you get too angry with me.” Harold’s words were still soft, but firm. “I created them as a side project, perhaps two years before I started working on the Machine… I had intended for them to be used for those that lost their limbs in accidents, either combat or civilian related. However, when they were finished, it was soon apparent that they did not work on living human tissue and so I was approached by a colleague who wished to take them to adapt them to use for computers. To repair the damages that could be caused by viruses. I honestly had no idea until I saw them that night, that they had been sold to the government for other uses…” Harold sounded irritated about that last fact.

John slumped into a chair, his mind racing. He wasn’t human. He was a machine, but then how could he feel things? Like the cool metal of a gun, the heat from a fire, pain from an injury, the softness of Harold’s hands. How could he feel such love for the man standing across the room?

“I honestly thought that you knew, John. I did not consider that you would not have had any knowledge of that fact.”

“What do you know then?” John snapped the question, ignoring Harold’s wince.

“Since then.. I have learned a great deal, mostly concerning the way that you personally function. I also did quite a bit of digging into several sealed CIA files.” Harold didn’t move from his place, watching John with sad eyes. “I learned that there were more like you, I also learned their fates. I studied nearly every possible bit of information I could get my hands on, legally or illegally, because I did not wish you to follow in their footsteps.”

“Explain it to me then. Because none of this makes any sense.”

John tried to follow along, he honestly did because this was important, not just to him but to Harold, his partner, as well. Harold’s explanation started off simply enough, describing the Nano-Techs in more detail, but as he moved on to robotics and artificial organs, John got lost, his mind more focused on other details. When had it happened, how? Who else had been a machine like he was? What had happened to them? Those thoughts continued to circle around until something Harold said caught his attention.

“Wait, what?”

There was a soft sigh. “I stated that your ability to feel is due to the fact that you still have your original brain and…”

John jerked to his feet so fast that he caused Harold to freeze again. “So, I’m not completely mechanical?”

“No. You still have your brain. I am afraid that is about all, but technically that makes you a cyborg and not an android.” Harold’s eyes darted up and then back down very quickly.

Taking a deep breath and finding the irony that he still needed to do so, John shifted a bit, leaning back against a table. “I still don’t understand how I didn’t know.” That was the main thing that was bothering him. He felt a bit better now, knowing that he, still had his brain. Not much, but a bit.

Harold licked his lips, and shifted a bit. “I.. might have a theory about that. I do not believe that you will like it though.”

That comment made John scowl. “Well, spit it out, Harold.”

Fiddling with his sleeve, Harold’s next words were soft, and John barely managed to make them out. “I believe they tampered with your memory.” Harold turned his head at the low growl that John gave. “Given that your brain is hooked to various circuits, it is possible that they used that connection to remove any memory you had of injuries or the incident that caused you to become…”

Harold’s words trailed off when John lashed out, spinning away from the table and slamming his fist as hard as possible into the wall. Bear growled this time, low, and Harold stood there, frozen, eyes fixed on the impact site.

That made perfect sense. That explained why John didn’t have a clear memory of any of his serious injuries, couldn’t remember how long he had been incapacitated afterward, but he could remember the ones after Ordos and every one he had gotten working with Harold. Harold would never have done such a thing. He simply wasn’t the type of person to do that to _anyone_ , let alone the man he loved…

A stray thought flickered and John ran with it, his fist sliding away from the wall slowly, as he turned to face his partner. “Harold, you knew this and still agreed to be in a relationship with me anyway?”

Surprise flashed over Harold’s face, the first emotion other than nervousness, he had shown since the conversation started. “Of course, what does that have to do with our relationship?”

It took a full minute for John to process that question, as well as the surprise in Harold’s tone. “It has everything to do with it! I’m not a person, Harold.” John stopped then, something telling him that he had just crossed a line.

That suspicion was confirmed a second later, when Harold straightened, his eyes narrowed and his mouth pressed tightly together into a tight line. Then Harold took a step forward and hissed. “How _**dare**_ you say such a thing!”

Harold was pissed.


	3. Frustration

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John and Harold disagree on exactly what makes someone a human.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mavet! I have more for you. About halfway done now. I tried to hit you in your feels, like you asked me too. Also. I will have an extra special surprise at the end of this. :)
> 
> Cheyennesunrise and Tranquil Waves, bless both of you dearly. For sitting with me while I worked and for all the help.

Harold glared at John before speaking very quickly. “I cannot believe that you of all people could say such a thing. Not only is it a very narrow minded comment, but it is also the most ridiculous thing I have ever heard before.”

John’s expression fell as he realized what he had said to Harold, the man that had given John so much. He regretted saying so, but Harold was too good for John, always had been and especially was now. “It’s still true, Harold. I’m not a real person.”

“What makes a person real then?” Harold snapped the question. “Being completely whole and only having the parts you were born with? Then I and hundreds of others are not people either. Or does it take more than that… artificial limbs, perhaps? Tell me then, how many amputee patients are no longer people?” He paused just long enough to breathe before jumping right back in again. “Possibly it hake organs to be a person, say the heart for instance. There are some, with pacemakers who are simply happy to have them. I even read an article about a man, who has a completely artificial heart. Tell me, Mr. Reese, is that man not a person?” Harold’s frown grew as he sat angrily in a chair, crossing his arms in the same motion. “Why don’t you tell me what makes a person, then.”

Harold rarely got angry, and never at John. He had sounded sad before, especially when John did something Harold thought was either dangerous or wrong, but never angry. Then there was the fact, Harold was referring to him as ‘Mr. Reese’ again, it was not a good sign. John shook his head. “Fine, human then not person.”

“Very well, tell me what makes someone a human.”

John thought for a moment, his worry and doubt battle with his anger at the fact Harold was refusing to see his whole point. “Not man made.” He bit the words out, trying to keep from raising his voice. John really didn’t want Harold to see how badly he felt about this entire thing. The last thing he expected was Harold to laugh.

It was a cold, brittle sound. “Not man made? That is your logic for defining a human? There are hundreds of thousands of children that were conceived using artificial insemination. And what of those who are conceived naturally? Tell me, are they not human? All humans are created, just like you were. We are both man made, Mr. Reese.”

“Are they designed by men, Harold?” John scowled, not liking the fact that his partner made a very good point. “No, they are created with random genes, flaws, genetic makeup that cannot be controlled.”

“So were you!” Harold snapped. “You were not just created. You were a child once, born and grew just like everyone else. But you nearly _**died!**_ ” By this point, Harold was sitting so stiffly that he was practically shaking, and he didn’t even notice when Bear moved close to rest his head on Harold’s shoe. “Are you going to try and tell me that everyone, the world would be better without you in it?”

That made John stop and really think. There were some that would say yes, right away, but John couldn’t. Not considering what he and Harold did every day. They saved people, people like Leila, Zoe, even Leon. The time they saved Carter, Sophia, Mira, and Maxine. So many lives that were saved because John was still there. There was Harold himself. John knew how much his partner relied on him in their work, he had mentioned several times how often he had waited, looked for someone that could help him save the Numbers. A scowl crossed John’s face again, as he shook his head.

“I can’t say that for certain, Harold.. But I also can’t say that it’s better either.” Holding up a hand, John took another minute trying to find the exact words for what he wanted to say. “How about this? I don’t feel much like a human anymore.” His hand left again to rest at his side.

Harold closed his eyes, in that special way he had, when he understood more than most people thought he could. “John, I can understand that…” Harold’s mouth snapped closed then John’s expression darkened again.

“No you can’t. You may think you can, but you _can’t!_ I can barely understand it. I was fine.” John slumped onto one of the stools. “I was better than fine.. Everything was wonderful. I have things.. that I never thought..." A swallow. "I never thought I could have again, things I knew I didn’t deserve but were given to me anyway. Then to suddenly feel like that’s all gone? Because that is how I feel.”

There was a long silence, tense and uncomfortable, and when John finally dragged himself out of his thoughts, he blinked, because Harold looked furious again. It took John a second to get it, and when he did, he winced. “Harold…”

“It would seem that…” Harold stated in a very controlled tone. “I was mistaken. I could not possibly know how it is that you are feeling at this moment. Would you prefer it if I simply left you to think things over at your own pace?”

Vehemently, John shook his head. “No.. I’d rather you stayed. I’m just.. not making much sense.”

Harold starred, keeping his eyes fixed on John, but he said nothing else.

“I don’t like not knowing things, Harold… You know that better than anyone. Especially things that directly concern me. This is a big deal, and I don’t know what I’m supposed to think about it. Is it a good thing, does that mean I’ll be able to deal with the numbers better? For longer? Or is it a bad thing? Does this mean that I can’t die? That I’m going to have to be the one that sits and listens to you as you die? I can’t do that.”

Dragging a hand through his short hair, John sighed. “I know that sounds bad, but I mean it. I don’t think I can handle being the one left behind this time. I don’t even know if this…” A gesture to himself. “..leaves me with an escape plan. But.. I guess it does explain why I never got alcohol poisoning…”

John shifted a bit, looking up at Harold. “I don’t know what to think. I don’t know what this mean for anything. I don’t know what this will change.” John’s tone grew slightly mocking. “Basically, I’m a fancy robot.”

Harold raised his eyebrow. “I highly doubt that. A robot is a machine, with no feelings, no purpose, no soul. You have all those things.”

“How can you know that? It could all just be programming.”

Harold’s frown stayed in place. “I _know_ machines. You are _not_ a machine.”

John matched his partner’s expression. “Fine. I’m not a robot, but that doesn’t mean that I know how all this is going to change things.” John didn’t want to admit to Harold that he worried that it would change them. He had hoped that after some time he could become what Harold needed, now he doubted that he deserved to even be Harold’s friend. “Does this make me completely expendable?”

Harold instantly denied it. “Absolutely _**not!**_ ”

“Why not Harold?” John’s voice was low, tired, and he was really starting to wish that he hadn’t bothered to look at the cut he had gotten earlier.

“I have told you time and again that you are not as easily replaced as you believe.” Harold leaned forward a bit, absently dropping a hand down to rub Bear’s head. “You are very important…”

“Not really, you could always trade me in for a newer model.” John dismissed the thought with a wave of his hand. He hated how that thought made him feel cold all over. How the idea that Harold could trade him for something better nearly broke his heart.  He didn’t notice the look Harold gave him, full of hurt, before he started stalking again. “At least I know that in advance..”

There was an odd silence then, Harold being too hurt and angry to speak and John being too lost in his own misery to care.

Finally, John sighed. "It doesn’t really matter anyway, I’m just wires and binary code. That’s all."

Harold stood abruptly, his hands curling so tightly that John worried Harold would draw blood. "And, I am just proteins and electrical impulses, that doesn't make either of us less than what we are." His tone was cold, abrupt, proof that his anger was back again in full force. “If you believe that the only thing that makes you human is what you are made of then you are a _**fool.**_ ”

John watched as Harold moved toward the door, a frown replacing the started look, when his partner even ignored Bear’s whine. “Wait, Harold..” John was on his feet just a minute too late, Harold already had the door open.

“I will not remain here and watch you belittle yourself, convince yourself that you are nothing special. I know exactly how highly valued you are, but that apparently has no meaning for you.  If you feel the need wallow in your self-pity, then you may do so on your own!” The slam of the door was proof of just how angry Harold really was.

Dropping his eyes from the door, John looked at Bear, feeling more alone than he had in years.


	4. Reflection

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John thinks about the precious things he has, the things he's lost and what this change means for him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I think I'm just over halfway done. I have two more chapters planned, alone with a small bonus one. 
> 
> Cheyennesunrise and Tranquil Waves. Thanks again ladies for sitting with me while I wrote. Not to mention all the fantastic suggestions. 
> 
> I hope you enjoy it Mavet!

The silence filling the loft was heavy, broken only by Bear’s low huff as he dropped his head to the floor, eyes fixed on the door. John had never seen Bear look the way he did right now, but he remembered Harold mentioning it to him. Bear had watched the gate for hours, when John had been incarcerated. Now, he could see that the faithful dog felt just as strongly for Harold as he did for John. He instantly felt guilty for putting Bear in the same situation again. It wasn’t the dog’s fault that he had picked a fight with Harold. “Sorry, Bear…”

It wasn’t usual behavior for Harold to storm out. In fact, John could not honestly remember a time that Harold had actually done so in anger. He had left John behind several times, but never when angry. That was what John did. Harold had always left when the questions were too personal, or occasionally then he was trying to prove a point.

John hated the fact that Harold was upset enough to simply leave. It especially hurt that it was entirely John’s fault. That he was the sole reason for Harold’s anger. Before those rare times that Harold had allowed that emotion to show, it had always been because of a number, and once, just once it had been at Carter, after she had led Snow straight to John. Part of him wanted to run after, track Harold to whatever safe house he had run off to and apologize. However, another part wanted to run the opposite direction, because he didn’t honestly see any way that he could stay with Harold now.

It was obvious that his partner didn’t think that anything had changed. In a way, it made John love Harold just a little bit more than he already did, to know that it honestly didn’t matter to him what John really was. It also made it hurt more to know that he did not deserve Harold. Harold needed someone warm, someone that could lay down his life for him, and John wasn’t sure he could even do that anymore. He had always considered himself extremely lucky to be with Harold at all. John knew the kind of things he had done, not just for the CIA but before in the Army, and that was one of the reasons John knew without a sliver of a doubt that Harold was far too good for him. His partner was too kind, too good for someone with as much blood on his hands as John had.

Figuring out that Harold felt the exact same way floored John even now, three months after being together. Harold had admitted one night, with the lights low, and the room only lit by computer screens, that he honestly believed that John deserved a better man. One that was complete and whole, not an aging cripple, and didn’t hide everything like Harold did. His partner had made the admission to the floor more than John, like he was embarrassed to admit such a thing.

It had never bothered John that Harold had injuries, unless his partner was in the field. Harold’s injuries were a mark of what the other man had survived. In the field, it meant that Harold was an easier target but John had always tried to find a way around sending Harold out in the first place. As for the hiding, Harold had never given John any reason to doubt that he did so. He had admitted upfront that he was hiding things, things he had no intention of sharing. That had been fine at the time, John had a few secrets he had been positive Harold hadn’t known either. As time passed, those carefully hidden secrets became like a game, Harold making John work for the information and John appreciating the change to learn them. He had no doubt that in time Harold would tell, or let him learn, everything John would ever need to know.

To John, Harold was one of the few good people left in the blood soaked city. New York had always been a place where people came to make something great of themselves and usually ended up losing their compassion in the process. In a way, it was silly to blame the city, but John still felt that way. Harold though, he felt for people, worried over random strangers that would most likely never even give him the time of day. Harold had spent a full year listening to them, helpless, possibly mourned for them more than their own families did. He even went so far as to hire John to help, knowing how dangerous the idea had been. Harold risked his own life to prove to John just how large the weight was that sat on his shoulders.

Moving over and dropping down into the chair Harold had been sitting in, John reached down to pat Bear’s head. Compared to what Harold had already given John, he didn’t have near as much to offer. True, he had saved Harold from Root, but that was just as much for John as it had been for Harold. It was also true that John had managed to save Harold on a couple of other occasions but that didn’t even begin to compare. Knowing now, that he was more machine than anything else, changed his perspective on several things. One instance, in particular, stood out in John’s mind. The rooftop. He could remember it like it was yesterday. The chill of the wind, the iciness of the rain, the slight shaking as Harold worked dedicatedly to unlock the phone. Knowing now that Harold had climbed all those stairs, risked his life for a machine, was almost more than John could understand. Not to mention, according to his partner, Harold had known about John’s.. situation since he was shot in the parking garage. John understood that Harold, when he allowed himself to care, loved with a rare intensity that wasn't often seen in others. It was a humbling feeling to know that caring was directed onto him, and John had promised himself that he would keep his partner safe. He would never allow Harold to die before him, but now he wasn’t certain that he could keep that promise.

How long could John live? He was certain that he wouldn’t age, and that if he was shot in the head that he would die, but what else could kill him? Could he bleed out like a regular person? Or would Harold’s little machines repair him before that happened? If he was stabbed in his artificial heart, would that kill him? Could he be poisoned? He had so many questions now, but really only one mattered. Would he have to watch Harold die?

He couldn't lose Harold. Never, he told himself. Knowing that his inability to take action had resulted in Jessica’s death, the guilt was what had driven him to join her by using alcohol as his weapon of choice. Now, he knew why that hadn’t worked, why he hadn’t been able to completely down those memories away. Now, that John had tied everything he had left to Harold, he wasn’t sure if he could handle watching that sweet man slip away from him. Not without loosing his mind and taking half of the city down with him.

Would it be worth it? Honestly, John wasn’t sure. It was surprisingly easy to picture the next few years. Both continuing on as they had been, working the numbers. Taking Bear for walks and watching odd movies during their small bits of downtime. More nights, spent in a warm apartment, curled together in a comfortable bed. Dry comments over breakfast, conversations during stakeouts. Violently, John shook his head  No. He couldn’t do it. It would hurt so much more if he let himself start to think that he could have all that. It was better to make a break on his terms than to wait for Harold to be ripped away from him. Despite the horrible thought, despite the tiny voice in the back of his mind that insisted that he could stay, be with Harold, John had made his decision.

Shaking his head, John looked down at Bear again, giving the faithful animal one last pat, before standing and collecting the leash. He took a minute, looking around the empty loft, something that Harold had given him, another attempt by his partner to give John the home that he had wanted for so long. He let himself feel the regret that came from not being able to keep it, to be able to properly appreciate, Harold’s attempt. Taking a deep breath, he shifted a bit and tugged lightly on the leash. “Come on Bear. Lets go find Harold. I.. have something I need to tell him.”


	5. Negotiation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John decides to tell Harold what he thinks should be done. Harold rather strongly disagrees.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry you had to wait so long for this chapter Mavet. Things got pretty crazy. 
> 
> As always, Cheyennesunrise is my rock and Tranquil Waves is my grammar Nazi, so hopefully there won't be as many mistakes this time. :)
> 
> Only one more chapter left to go before the best part.

The only problem John really had with telling Harold his decision was actually _finding_ Harold to tell him. John tried the Library, both of Crane’s massive suites, all three of Wren’s modest apartments, Partridge’s cold, impersonal and empty penthouse, Quail and Swift’s small studios and even the messy, clustered den that belonged to Gull. All were empty. John even checked the five of Finch’s safe houses that he had seen before, and one extra that he wasn’t supposed to know about.

By now it was nearly dark, and Bear was panting heavily. John had started to grow concerned after the first three calls to Harold went unanswered, the next eight only increased his worry. Harold always answered the phone, _**always.**_ It wasn’t until the fifteenth attempted call that Harold finally answered.

“What do you need, Mr. Reese?” The tone was cool and neutral, all of Harold’s walls firmly up.

John let out a sigh, relieved that Harold had answered. “I need to see you, Harold.” His voice was low, slightly hurt that Harold had withdrawn so much. “Tell me where you are?” Despite his urge to reach his partner right away, John knew any demand would result in Harold completely shutting him out.

There was a long silence, before Harold curtly gave out an address and hung up. John immediately stepped to the curb to hail a cab. He spent the ten minute ride, ignoring the cabbie’s glares over Bear, and thinking about exactly what he would say to Harold. John honestly didn’t want to tell Harold his decision, but he felt that he _had_ to for Harold’s sake. His partner deserved better than John, someone that could grow old with him, change with him, die for him. That was what Harold deserved and if John couldn’t give his partner that, then he did not deserve to be with Harold.

John shoved some bills at the disgruntled cabbie and was up before the cab even stopped completely, Bear at his heels, tail wagging at the sight of Harold. He was sitting at an outdoor table, despite the cold wind. One hand wrapped around a large, steaming mug, with his brow furrowed in thought.

John slipped into the seat across from Harold, a slight smile showing when Bear immediately dropped to the ground next to Harold’s chair. For a couple of minutes, John stayed silent, watching as Finch studied his cup with an intensity rarely seen outside of a number. “I’m sorry, Harold. I shouldn’t have said before that you could just trade me in.”

Harold glanced up and gave a short nod. “Very well. I appreciate the apology.”

It was obvious that Harold was still angry, and John was certain that what he was about to say would only make that feeling worse, so he went ahead and said it. “Harold, I’ve been doing some thinking. I’m pretty sure that you aren’t going to like what I have to say… but I’d appreciate it if you’d let me finish before you say anything.”

Harold frowned but made a go ahead motion with his hand.

John took a breath, then started talking, low so that the few people walking nearby had no chance of overhearing. “I’ve thought a lot about what this changes. I wonder now if I can grow old… What will it be like, staying exactly the same while you eventually die? Can I still keep my promise to protect you with my life? I don’t think I can anymore, Harold. I knew when we started this that I wasn’t good enough for you.” John dropped his eyes to study the table. “But I thought… that if I could spend the last of our time together… give my life for you, then maybe that would make up for the fact that I’m not a good person. But… I don’t know if I can do that anymore. How will it be for you to stay with me knowing that I’m never going to change? How will it be for me, knowing that I have to watch you die? I can’t go through that again. I know now that the only reason I survived Jessica’s death was because I couldn’t kill myself with alcohol.”

John paused, took another deep breath and finished. “I think it would be best… if we quit while we were ahead and just focused on the numbers.” He glanced up at Harold’s face and froze, having never seen that expression on his partner’s face before. Harold’s face was blank, but his eyes spoke volumes. They were narrowed, and filled with emotion.

“Well.” Harold took a sip from his cup, then set it carefully down, his movements very controlled. “I can’t say that I’m surprised. Disappointed, yes.. but not surprised. Now that you have said your piece, I will say mine.” Harold met John’s eyes and spoke as softly as John had. “Perhaps it is simply that I have had more time to consider all of these thoughts, and perhaps it is that they simply do not matter to me, but I still do not agree with your decision. I will respect it, of course, I will not force you to do anything that you do not want to do. Therefore, I will respectfully keep my distance from you after this, however, before I do, I have something to tell you.

“Have you considered that perhaps I don’t want to be the one that leaves you behind? Especially, knowing exactly how you will punish yourself for something that you have no control over. I know exactly what that knowledge will do to me, yet I would not trade peace of mind over the precious thing I share with you.” Harold shifted in his chair. “There are some things that you haven’t considered though… I know that you feel you are not good enough for me, but I feel the same way… Please, let me finish.”

John had started, and opened his mouth to interrupt. He hated Harold ever thinking that he wasn’t good enough. There was, in John’s opinion, few men left that were half as decent as Harold was.

“I can’t do what you can.” Harold tone was flat, an odd edge hidden in the words. “I have never been able to properly assist you in our work. I do not have skills to be a complete partner to you. I am poor in the field at best, not to mention all of the times that you were required to come to my assistance. But then again, how could I?” The sound Harold made then was a dismissive one. “You are… brilliant at what you do, and your… enhancements only serve to make you better. You asked me before, to consider what it will be like when you don’t change. I have. Every time that I take a step, try to turn my head, move faster than I am able.” Harold’s tone changed then the anger bleeding through, despite the low tone. “I think about it every time you go out, guns blazing. I worry that I will not be able to get to you in time. That you will die because I am not as capable as you are, like Nathan did. I have considered all of this, and I made my choice.”

Harold pushed his chair back, and stood carefully, before resting a hand on the table. “I never asked you to be willing to die for me. Especially for that reason. I never needed to you prove that you were good enough for me! I _chose_ you, as my partner. _**Twice!**_ Once for the numbers, and again for myself. I want you to be at my side, in all things. I was confident that alone would show you how highly I think of you. I was mistaken.” Harold stared at John, eyes shuttered and standing stiffly. “If that was not enough to show you how it is that I honestly feel, and if all this time together has shown you nothing about me… Then I do not know you as well as I thought, and perhaps, we should abandon this entire partnership altogether. As I stated before, I will not ask you to stay with me.” Harold scowled for just a moment, then limped off as quickly as he was able, Bear leaping up to follow behind.

John was startled to feel something wet slide down his cheek. It was rare that he ever allowed himself to cry but when he did it was always because of an overly large gesture. Jessica leaving, Harold showing up on that rooftop, when he was young and was told his father was dead. It wasn’t surprising that Harold stating so resolutely that they were finished, professional and personal, hurt, what was surprising was that John was letting himself react to it. This was what he wanted, to back away from Harold and now allow himself to get any closer than he already was. But, he _hadn’t_ wanted to lose Harold completely.

Honestly, John was completely surprised that he could cry. He wasn’t entirely sure how, but then again, he was bleeding earlier as well. Closing his eyes for a minute, John jerked up from the table. He could still feel and bleed, apparently cry and just a few minutes ago, Harold had said that he could still die. His thoughts rapidly went from one thing to another, all of them circling around the main issue. If John hadn’t been able to tell before that he was partially a machine, then was it really worth giving up Harold just because he knew about it now? Harold had been right, he chose John and John had done the same. He still had doubts, but John knew now, that so did Harold. He still wasn’t good enough for Harold, but his partner obviously didn’t care about that. It would be horrible if John was left behind again, but then again, Leaving someone, especially unwillingly was just as tough. Thinking about it now, backing out seemed like the coward’s way out.

John darted around the corner, hoping that Harold hadn’t gotten too far the in the couple of minutes that he had been staring into space. As he turned a corner, he caught just the edge of Bear’s tail sticking out from a small cluster of people gathered at the streetlight. Promising himself that he would find a way to make this entire mess up to Harold, John broke into a run, shouting as loudly as possible. “Harold!”


End file.
